


We're All Just Young and Stupid

by Zianourrylovesme (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Can you tell?, M/M, havent written in a while, just try it, thats all i ask, the smut scene is bleh, theres a lack of Niall that I cannot explain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:30:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Zianourrylovesme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam locks eyes with Michael, who's all but shaking now, and practically growls,"You understand?"</p>
<p>Michael does, actually, Michael understand very well, Harry's obviously trying to get him killed, but he squeaks out a 'yes' anyway, because he's already died his hair blue, and he has the damn plate, and he's a stupid horny nineteen year old. What other choice does he have?</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're All Just Young and Stupid

The first thing Michael noticed was that he had a stiffy, but, being the lazy arse he was, he decided to leave it. The second thing he noticed was that it was four twenty-seven.

He cursed all the way through getting dressed, grabbing his iPod and keys, and running down the stairs, only stopping when he got to the park he usually ran at. Plugging in his headphones, he set to running, keeping pace with whatever song was on at the moment.

Halfway through his eighth lap, Michael sees him.

Easily a foot taller than Michael himself, with broad shoulders, though slumped as they were, curls that looked too natural to be real, and tattoos curling haphazardly around his body; this man was beautiful.

Michael subconsciously sped up until he was only a few feet behind this amazingly built man; this close, he could even see his arse shift in his low swung basketball shorts, and, well.

There's that stiffy again.

The next two laps are filled with thoughts of wonder as to what this long-legged piece of sex looks like from the front, when suddenly, there's no more piece of sex.

Snapping to a stop, Michael looks down to where the man lies groaning on the ground. Even with his face a blank slate of confusion, this is possibly the cutest man ever. Realizing that he's literally just standing there like a dumbarse, staring at some guy on the floor, Michael offers his hand, stuttering out a concerned,"Hey bro, you okay?"

The abs quivered as he sat up a bit, and when sexy man took Michael's hand, his was so soft and warm that Michael maybe sighed bit in his head. After pulling him up, Michael was forced to see just how tall this guy really was though, and the sun blinded him as he looked up and up into a now grinning face.

"Yeah, I'm fine now, thanks so much." Off he took, muscles bunching as he left Michael in the dust. Michael jogged slowly back home, and if his hand was in his pants before he could unlock his door; his dick won't tell.

\--

Michael wakes up, intentionally, of course, at four twenty-seven for the next week or so, and goes running for so much longer than he ever has before, but it's all to no avail; sexy curls is gone.

Michael feels stupid and not just a  _bit_  sore to be honest. Giving up one day, Michael decides, fuck it, those legs are enough for his wank bank forever.

The following morning, he wakes up at a normal human time, and rubs his newly flat tummy as he crawls out of bed. Generally perturbed by the lack of clean shirts, he just grabs some trackies and foregoes the shirt altogether.

His stomach croaks at him, but he skips breakfast anyway; he's been going so good lately. The long hour runs he's been taking have been so long that he hasn't actually  _had_  time for breakfast, even being late to work once or twice.

Once at the park, jogging there to warm up, Michael drops easily into a pace set for him by a certain person with really stupid, beautiful long legs. Lost in his daydreams, Michael only barely sees him the first time passed.

Sitting on a tree stump in jeans so ridiculously tight that Michael almost cries (because the guy obviously doesn't care about his balls screaming for help), is sexy. His shirt is unbuttoned to his navel, red, black and white plaid, and there's a hat perched precariously atop his curls.

Scrolling through his phone, he doesn't notice Michael staring, completely enthralled in whatever's playing across his screen, and Michael almost slows, almost turns his head and gapes because the sun hits his everything just right, and Michaels been waiting for this moment for  _so long_  but-

He keeps running, pretends he hasn't seen him, because who says the guys here for him? Who says Michael won't make a fool of himself if he tries to talk to him? So he keeps running.

Two laps later, skinny jeans finally looks up, seemingly surprised to see Michael on his way around the bend, but his face soon lights up into one of the most gorgeous smiles ever. He slides into a standing position, and lopes towards Michael, procuring a plate of cupcakes out of nowhere, coming to a perfect stop in front of Michael.

Michael blushes, and sexy says,"Hey, you're the guy that helped me up, right?"

Taking a minute to stare some more, because he's stupid and nineteen and hormonal, Michael licks his lips and pulls out his other headphone,"Yeah?"

The other man smiles, hands him the plate of cupcake and says,"Thanks again, what's your name by the way?"

Michael, like the stupid person he is, takes the cupcakes, and murmurs,"Michael."

Sexy is silent.

"Oh, um, Clifford?" Because this beautiful wonderful person couldn't possibly a stalker/ kidnapper/ murderer, just.

No.

The guy smiles and says thanks once more before walking away.

Michael manages to make it past his front door this time.

\--

On the first day, Michael avoids the plate, eyes it as he leaves for work, ponders it's existence while he cooks up some Hamburger Helper, glares at it while he listens to the couple next door play Scrabble.

He just doesn't understand how someone so perfect managed to slip away, but do it in a way that left him empty calories and an antique glass plate that he knew he should return but  _how_?

\--

On the second day he just ignores the plate; it's not his fault though. If he eats those cupcakes, the three stone he's lost in the past weeks would be back in an instant.

\--

The third day brings Michael stumbling into the kitchen and grabbing one of the cupcakes. It's a Monday, and that's reason enough in itself for Michaels actions.

He's tired, half conscious, and hungry as fuck. Last night was great, lots of orgasms between Michael and his loving hand (it just knows him so well).

He's chewing on his last bite when it hits him, and he glances, betrayed, at the plate that now has one less cupcake on it than before.

Ashton's coming over today, but Michael knows he won't be able to handle this, especially not with someone laughing at him, so he rainchecks.

Ashton's pissed to say the least, but Michael's hung up on him far too many times to stop now.

\--

Day five, and Michael calls in sick to work; he has to die his hair.

He has three choices, two of the cupcakes were frosted a startling violet, four were a mess of sprinkles and normal vanilla frosting, and Michael would've done that, probably  _should've_ , but spotting hair is hard and messy and he just didn't have the motivation.

The last three cupcakes were messily frosted a cotton candy blue that was soft and cuddly and reminded Michael so much of sexy while he ate them on day four. He's just started on the last few clumps of hair when it hits him how done he is for this stranger.

\--

He's washing dishes that afternoon when he decides that yes, he  _will_  return the goddamn plate. He's not stupid.

Returning it requires washing, though, because there frosting at the sides, and come on the bottom so.

As he's scrubbing the come off, his eye catches on something black.

_My name's Harry,_

_Apartment 284, Public Homes (downtown);_

_Come to me ;)_

As Michael reads, he feels the smile splitting his face. Placing the dish carefully on the counter, Michael slides to the kitchen floor and curls into a fetal position like the stupid, horny nineteen year old he is, laughing until he just  _can't_  anymore.

\--

Day nine, and Michael finally grows a pair.

After four days of repeating day one, except with the plate sitting bottom up, Michael decides he can't really put this off any longer. Imagine if Harry wants his damn plate back, but Michael, stupid Michael, is just sitting here staring at it?

So here he is, standing in front of a flat much like his own, brown front door, nice little welcome mat; but beyond the coat closet is a very attractive man that Michael isn't sure he's good enough for.

Raising his unoccupied hand to knock, then stepping back to wait, Michael is aware of everything, and he jumps when there a shout of 'come in'. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Michael hesitates, because that wasn't Harry's voice, but he's not going to give up now.

Opening the door, the first thing Michael sees is biceps. There's a feather tattoo on the guys right forearm, and... More biceps. A t-shirt with ripped sleeves leaves a washboard set of abs to his imagination, but the guy's skinny jeans sag just right on his hips, so Michael doesn't mind.

Jesus Fuck though, why is he suddenly meeting so many hot people, Michael  _can't_.

Walking further into the flat, Michael flinches as buff guy looks up at him, grunting,"You Michael Clifford?"

Michael's mouth is so dry, he can only manage a nod, snapping his head the side his head when there's a snicker to his right.

There are two shirtless guys, one lounging comfortably on the couch, watching T.V. in some sweats, the other sprawled over the chair arm kind of sexually, in some skinny jeans that showed off his arse just right, and damn, Michael just can't catch a break!

One is honey colored, light stubble framing his jaw, tattoos placed carefully in the best places, the other pixie like in the face, tattoos scattered all along his chest, with beautiful yet subtle curves, still lightly chuckling to himself," _You're Michael_?"

Again, a nod, more snickers from pixie guy, then,"Lou, be nice! Introduce yourself, lads!" from what Michael guesses to be the kitchen.

"Lou" sticks out his tongue in that general direction, then he smiles sharply at Michael, a sparkle in his eyes,"As you've heard, I'm Lou, or Louis, this-" he gestures towards honey guy,"-is Zayn."

"Zayn" turns his amber gaze towards Michael and seems to mentally judge him silently for a minute before turning his head back towards the T.V., apparently accepting Michael's presence.

Louis goes on. "That-" he points to buff guy,"-is Liam."

"Liam" is a  _lot_  closer now than he was before, and wow, he's touching Michael, and shit, he's squeezing his shoulder, ow. "You hurt our Harry and I'll beat the shit out of you," Louis happily adds,"I'll back you Li!" and Zayn makes some sort of grunt of confirmation, but it's threatening all the same.

Liam locks eyes with Michael, who's all but shaking now, and practically growls,"You understand?"

Michael does, actually, Michael understand very well, Harry's  _obviously_ trying to get him killed, but he squeaks out a 'yes' anyway, because he's already died his hair blue, and he has the damn plate, and he's a stupid horny nineteen year old. What other choice does he have?

Liam claps him on the back, probably a bit harder than needed, but Michael just jumps and coughs through his shriek of pain. Liam heads over to the couch, dropping next to Zayn, who smiles over at Liam, quick, before becoming stoic again.

What the hell has Michael gotten himself into, fuck.

A head peeks out from the supposed kitchen, and oh, that's Harry, covered in flour. "C'mon, need your help in here." Michael's never been anywhere faster.

The kitchen looks a lot like Harry (covered in flour), and Michael smiles stupidly because it's so fucking endearing, watching Harry move around in his apron covered in little cupcakes, humming a nameless tune under his breath.

Leaning a hip against the counter, Michael holds out the plate, and blushes as Harry put down every single thing he was doing to gently take it from Michael with a dimpled smile.

Drawing in some air, Michael says,"I really like you." Harry's eyes shine, and Michael drops his head, feeling the blush spread down his neck, but when he looks up again, Harry's still  _right there_.

Looking into Michael's eyes for a second, Harry starts leaning in slowly, eyes still connected. With a sound that probably wasn't natural (which is okay, because  _Harry &Michael_ aren't natural), Michael's kissing Harry.

There's a split second where Michael realizes he's falling, and then he's slipping sideways on some flour, taking Harry with him.

A cloud of white does up as they hit the floor, most of it from Harry's hair, and Michaels blushing so hard, but Harry, stupid  _stupid_ Harry, just grins and starts kissing Michael again which, okay.

That's totally okay.

Except Michael has these hands that he doesn't know what to do with, so he just kind of hovers them over Harry's back. Breaking the kiss a few moments later, Harry mumbles thickly,"You can touch."

Michael's lips are throbbing, but it's quickly covered by the push and stick of Harry's mouth against his once more. Hands coming to rest, one on Harry's waist, the other in his hair, Michael groans into the kiss, grinding up into the leg that wonderful, beautiful Harry has supplied him.

A shout of,"Cockblock pile!" ruins it all.

Three bodies pile on top of them, and Harry grunts, keeping the weight off of Michael in a plank position. There's a sparkle in Harry's eye, but Michael only sees a bit of it because his eyes are glued to the biceps.

Harry has tattoos on his arms, and they're really just defining a truly wonderful set of biceps; Michael is sure he looks more than a bit awestruck at the moment, and yep, Harry's just  _purposely_  flexed. Say goodbye, because Michael's gone.

The boys climb off slowly, and Harry lets out a breath, sagging a bit; as a weakling, this  _deeply_  satisfies Michael, because it won't be him who's doing the heavy lifting in this relationship.

Standing up, Harry pulls Michael up as well, and shakes his hair out one last time before grabbing Michaels hand, drawling,"We're going to fuck,  _loudly_ ,in my bedroom. You're welcome to leave."

As Michael's being pulled down the hallway, he notices that Harry doesn't look back, not once, so of course, stupid Michael, he looks-

And blushes so hard he's sure he ruptured a vein.

Liam is hip thrusting slowly but quite intently, his hips grinding in circles, Louis' pushing four fingers through an exaggeratedly large hole made by his thumb and middle finger, Zayn's grinding absolutely  _filthily_  against some blond dude that Michael's sure as hell wasn't actually there a second ago, who's making the most innocent sex faces Michael's ever seen.

He honestly can't tear his eyes away, so it's all good when the bedroom door does it for him.

"Are they always like that?" Michael whispers, turning slowly.

Harry looks up from where he's simultaneously pulling off his shirt and unbuckling his belt, hunched over, and chuckles,"Liam's not threatening, but everyone else, yeah. How come, will that be a problem?"

There's a hard glint in Harry's eyes, and Michael smiles because Harry and his friends are so lucky to have each other. Placing his hand on Harry's chest firmly, Michael walks him back until he tips onto the bed, climbing on top of him and murmuring,"They just want to protect something beautiful, how can I have a problem with that?

Besides, if I didn't like it, then I'd just be judging a book by it's cover, and that," he brushes his lips against Harry's softly,"Is not cool."

The dimples are back, and Harry easily flips them over, pressing his smile against Michael's neck, rumbling,"I really like you too." kissing Michael quickly.

They awkwardly fumble to take off clothes, and Michael laughs breathlessly because  _Harry's_  pulling down  _his_  pants, and yeah, this is actually happening, wow. As his dick curves up towards his stomach, Michael pulls off his shirt and sits up, pulling at Harry's, even as Harry tries to get his second skin off.

Those jeans will be the death of Michael, and not only because they outline Harry's dick  _perfectly_  as it strains towards freedom. Pulling them down past Harry thighs, they start peeling off a little easier, revealing muscle taut legs that Michael wants to put his mouth on, but alas, his mouth is occupied at the moment.

Some other time.

Kicking the jeans to the floor, Harry shimmies out of his pants and lines his dick up with Michael's, grinding as he reaches for the bedside table. Eyes half closed in agony, Michael whines because he's nineteen and stupidly close to coming; Harry's concentration face is just so fucking adorable. Michael's breath catches, just another sound lost in static, and he groans as he comes.

Harry darts a glance at Michael as his hand comes into view holding lube and a condom. Still grinding, a little easier now with Michael's come slicking way, he murmurs,"One down, two to go." with a serial killer smile that Michael really shouldn't find so hot.

Dick on fire, Michael open his mouth for words, but ends up half shrieking as Harry grins, taking them both in hand and pumping Michael back to full hardness, the boy biting his knuckles and squirming. Satisfied that Michael's on edge again, Harry slides down his body, smirking up at Michaels dazed expression while lubing up a finger.

Missing the first time, Harry accidentally pokes Michael's perinea, but Michael's too blushy and stupid to care, instead bucking into the touch, reaching down to wrap a hand around his prick.

Heels digging into the mattress for leverage, Michael's this close to coming when Harry slides a finger in and oh. Hand stilling Michael takes in the feeling of a finger in his arse, and really, it shouldn't be great because Harry's finger in his arse, it should be great because fingers in general, but Harry's finger is so much better than anyone elses could've ever been. He's breathing heavily as he says "More please?"

Harry kisses the dusky skin on Michael's inner thigh and obliges, lubing and lining up a second finger, sliding it in slowly. As the two start moving inside him, Michael focuses on the stretch and burn of his rim, subconsciously grinding into it. Concentration face back in place, Harry crooks his fingers and,"Holy fuck!" Michael gasps as Harry presses his smile in the crook of Michaels knee.

"What is that?" It comes out shaky and slurred because Harry's repeating that move over and over again, Michaels back arching accordingly. Harry husks,"Don't you know?" frowning when Michael just bites a knuckle and turns his face into a pillow. Fingers pausing, Harry moves to hover over Michael again, making Michael face him,"That was your prostate. You really didn't know that?

You've done this before right?"

Michael huffs a laugh, looking away again,"No?" Harry's face is blank, then he leans down and kisses Michael once, twice, thrice,"God, I'm so stupid, and sorry, I'm definitely that too, oh God, I- Fuck, I'll do this right, for you, okay?"

Still hard as ever, Michael smiles stupidly and grinds up onto Harry's thigh a bit, murmuring,"Thank you," quietly.

Harry beams at Michael like they're not naked and covered in mostly dry come and about to have wonderful dirty sex, then starts moving his his fingers again. One finger and a lot of kisses later, Harry rolls on the condom and grabs Michaels hand, looking him in the eye seriously as he whispers,"Do you want this?"

It sounds like a line out of a bad porno, but Michael just squeezes Harry hand and nods, not trusting himself with words of any kind.

When Harry starts pushing in Michael breaths out slowly, never breaking eye contact; only when Harry is balls deep does Michael take a gasping breath, overwhelmed. Of course, since his brain is scrambled to fuck Michael blurts,"I practically wanked my knob off to the thought of this finally happening, God, thank you." but Harry just pulls out and slides back in, breathing,"This okay?"

Answer lost in a groan, Michael just nods frantically, short circuiting as he comes again. Smiling down at Michael, whose heaving in great gasps of air, trying to see past the black dots in his vision, Harry takes his prick in hand once more, drawing a sob from the over sensitive boy, but there's never a 'stop' so.

Harry doesn't stop.

Crying actual tears, Michael is fully hard again so fast he can't process it, and he wraps his legs around Harry's hips, pushing back into every thrust, trusting Harry to take care of him. Harry comes, curls in on himself and scrunches up so tight he looks small, moaning long and low in Michael's ear.

Coming a delirious third time, a screams claws it's way out of Michael's throat, because he's nineteen and so fucking happy, not to mention Harry's prick is nudged right up against that magic spot.

As Harry pulls out, Michael smears his come over the moth on Harry's abs, snorting when Harry leers at him. They're breathing heavily, but it calms down after Harry cleans them off with a flannel. They lie together for a while, Harry softly rubbing at the tears tracks on Michael's cheeks, then Harry mumbles,"Are you okay?"

Michael smiles,"I'm great, so glad it was you." They kiss until they fall asleep.

\--

The first thing Michael noticed with that he had a stiffy, but, being the lazy arse that he was, he decided to leave it. Rolling over, the second thing he noticed was that it was eleven fifty-three. Confused, he looks around, then sits up, rubbing his face;

his heart sinks and he won't lie, he feels a bit shit.

Harry's gone.

Letting his head fall into his hands, Michael takes a second, except-

Something's humming Domino outside.

Hopping out of bed, Michael picks up a random shirt throws it on, smiling to himself when he realizes that it's Harry's, then walks out of the room and down the hallway, following the sounds.

Arriving at the kitchen Michael smiles to himself in spite of everything, because there's Harry, moving around the kitchen to a smooth rhythm. Instead of making his presence known, though, Michael stands in the doorway watching as Harry prepares breakfast: a toastie and coffee if Michael is correct.

Turning, Harry looks up and jumps a little when he sees Michael standing there, but he looks so soft and small, wearing Harry's shirt, and that does stupid things to Harry, so he just smiles. Michael smiles back, then ducks his head and blushes, ashamed for thinking this beautiful person would leave him in the morning.

Suddenly engulfed in long arms, Michael leans into the touch, smiling even harder as Harry mumbles stupidly,"That's my shirt. You should wear it forever."

Giggling quietly, Michael squeezes Harry, who giggles as well, and they both dissolve into soft laughter.


End file.
